


I didn't mean to fall.

by TheLadyZephyr



Series: Zee's Ineffable Husbands Ficlets [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 10:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19766221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyZephyr/pseuds/TheLadyZephyr
Summary: “Please…please, no.”“I’m… I’m so sorry.”He looked up. There was an angel standing on the scorched earth, facing away. He had white-blond hair to match his gleaming white wings, and a glowing crown of silver metal. There was a sword in his hands, fire flickering along its length, and he was holding its point to the throat of a figure stretched out on the ground at his feet.





	I didn't mean to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Folks this is WAY MORE ANGSTY than I usually write. Like, so much more. I wrote this as a challenge to take myself outside of my comfort zone, so if you're here for my usual fluff you should skip over this one. 
> 
> Warnings for violence, though nothing is what I'd consider explicitly described, blood, and some unnamed character deaths.

_ I didn’t mean to fall. _

He stood on the battlefield. The wind bit at his wings and clutched at his hair, hot and cloying as he breathed it in in ragged gasps. Fire burned around him. Sounds echoed off the jagged rocks; the beat of wings, the clash of metal, the wordless shouts ripped from a million-score angelic throats.

_ I didn’t want this. _

The ground beneath him bucked, shuddering and quaking, and he staggered. The rock hissed, rolling under him in a great wave, rising and falling and changing. Sharp slate, then fine sand, then pocked sandstone, caught by the conflicting wills of the warring entities.

A crack, a flash, and a figure fell from the dark sky. They hit a newly formed outcrop, and tumbled to a stop at his feet, wings impossibly bent and feathers drenched in red. He stared.

_ Not this. _

The earth tilted, melting to sand and rising up and up, a wave that threatened to crash over him. He snarled, baring his teeth and sharpening his imagination to match the sword clutched in his hand. The wave split, roaring by on either side of him and hardening back to granite. The effort rocked him backwards. He flared his wings to keep his balance, and when he focused forward again an angel dropped to the ground in front of him.

“Traitor!”

She advanced on him, sword aloft and eyes flashing. Her wings were pale, speckled grey, marred with soot and blood.

“No…” He took a step backwards.

_ I just wanted to ask. _

She launched. He jerked, instinctively willing the rock between them to sharpen and spike. She tripped. Fell.

His sword bit into her.

_ I just wanted to know. _

“Nice one!” The voice made him flinch. Two angels vaulted over the frozen granite ridge. The one with wings of iridescent blue leered at him as they approached.

He let go of his sword. The grey-winged angel’s body slumped to the ground.

“Here’s another!”

Numb, he looked from his red soaked hands to follow the pointing finger. 

The earth shifted, falling away to reveal an angel kneeling, one wing dangling uselessly at his side. The blue winged angel and their companion stalked forward, smiles widening. The kneeling angel cried out, scrabbling backwards.

_ Was that so bad? Asking? _

A sound registered on the edge of his hearing; a discordant hum that swiftly grew to agonising volume. He screamed, clutching at his ears and falling to his knees. The ground underneath the rebel angels shattered, exploding outwards in burning white light. He got a glimpse of rows of wings and rending claws and countless blazing eyes descending from overhead.

Then the rippling blast hit him.

Burning pain, whirling disorientation, and he was in the air, flung high above the battlefield. He twisted, trying desperately to angle his wings and catch the scorching wind beneath them.

He managed it. Coppery feathers rose and fell, sending the smoke around him billowing. Below him the battlefield stretched; fire and death as far as he could see in any direction.

_ Is this my answer? _

His ears started to ring again. Terrified, he dropped, folding his wings in tight. Air whistled past him. He flared his wings as the ground raced up, too fast. The earth kicked up as he landed and he tripped, rolled, momentum throwing him forward. The rocks smashed into him, once, then twice, then he slid to a bone-jarring stop against a boulder. 

He drifted. Stars whirled through his mind. He remembered the feeling of cosmic dust pooling in his hands, pure creation at his fingertips.

“Please… _please_ , no.”

He stirred.

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” 

He looked up. There was an angel standing on the scorched earth, facing away. He had white-blond hair to match his gleaming white wings, and a glowing crown of silver metal. There was a sword in his hands, fire flickering along its length, and he was holding its point to the throat of a figure stretched out on the ground at his feet.

“Please…” the angel on the ground asked again.

The angel with the sword hesitated, turning his face to the sky. His expression was visible in profile; grief, and confusion and regret.

As the angel’s attention wavered his adversary surged upwards. There was a bubbling hiss, and a scream… and the white winged angel yanked his sword back. The figure beneath him was still.

_ Is this my punishment for asking? _

“So sorry.” The angel’s words were barely a whisper, but he heard them all the same. 

He pushed himself up, wary eyes fixed on angel’s back. He didn’t have his own sword.

“WELL DONE, AZIRAPHALE.”

The words split him open, a jangling wall of sound. He clutched at his head as the white winged angel, Aziraphale, looked up.

Wings of flame beat the dusty air as a presence descended, smothering pressure exuding from it. He cowered, grateful for the black soot that still coated his wings and hid their shine.

_ Archangel _ .

“M-Michael,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t… this is…”

“THE BATTLE IS NEAR WON, AZIRAPHALE. LOOK.”

Above them, a pure, white light was flickering into being against the inky sky. It grew, brighter and brighter, cutting through the smog and burning ash.

It fell on him. Warm and peaceful, right and true, soothing his pain and his fear, and burnishing his feathers to shining bright copper.

Aziraphale noticed the reflected shine, meeting his eyes across the scarred earth. The light shone on his hair, on his skin, on his shimmering white wings. The angel’s pale eyes widened in surprise.

The light grew, brighter, brighter, chasing away the shadows and the smoke, snuffing out the fires and soothing the roiling earth. With it came peace. Forgiveness.

Love.

Everything stilled. Weapons fell to the ground, millions of faces tilted up to the brightness.

Hope kindled in his chest.

_ You will forgive us? _

The light flared. Relief sagged his shoulders. It would be fine. It was going to be okay.

Gaze still locked with Aziraphale’s, he smiled, letting his relief show. The angel took a sharp breath, and matched him, beautiful grin bathed in light.

_ You will forgive us. _

Something tugged.

He blinked, confused.

Aziraphale’s grin faded.

Another tug, sharper this time.

He looked down. The light was still shining around him, but shadows were quickening on his skin.

_ Oh. _

He looked back up. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide with shock. He took a half step forwards, reaching out a hand.

And the light tore itself free.

There, and then gone. No more. Empty. Lacking.

He Fell.

_ I didn’t mean to. _

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Crowley.
> 
> I'm off to write some fluff to recover from this!
> 
> If you'd like to spread the angst you can find the post for this fic on tumblr [here](https://theladyzephyr.tumblr.com/post/186210529742/i-didnt-mean-to-fall-he-stood-on-the).


End file.
